e, who haughtily rejected a part in the
conspiracy. "I wish you to go, Louise," she declared indignantly.
"I will take the risk of all the harm that comes to you from the bad
weather." She picked up the shawls, and handed them to Mr. Libby, on
whom her eyes blazed their contempt and wonder. It cost a great deal of
persuasion and insistence now to make Mrs. Maynard go, and he left all
this to Grace, not uttering a word till he gave Mrs. Maynard his hand to
help her down the steps. Then he said, "Well, I wonder what Miss Breen
does want."

"I 'm sure I don't know," said the other. "At first she did n't want me
to go, this morning, and now she makes me. I do hope it is n't going to
be a storm."

"I don't believe it is. A little fresh, perhaps. I thought you might be
seasick."

"Don't you remember? I'm never seasick! That's one of the worst signs."

"Oh, yes."

"If I could be thoroughly seasick once, it would be the best thing I
could do."

"Is she capricious?" asked Mr. Libby.

"Grace?" cried Mrs. Maynard, releasing her hand half-way down the steps,
in order to enjoy her astonishment without limitation of any sort.
"Grace capricious!"

"Yes," said Mr. Libby, "that's what I thought. Better take my hand
again," and he secured that of Mrs. Maynard, who continued her descent.
"I suppose I don't understand her exactly. Perhaps she did n't like
my not calling her Doctor. I did n't call her anything. I suppose she
thought I was dodging it. I was. I should have had to call her Miss
Breen, if I called her anything."

"She wouldn't have cared. She is n't a doctor for the name of it."

"I suppose you think it's a pity?" he asked.

"What?"

"Her being a doctor."

"I'll tell her you say so."

"No, don't. But don't you?"

"Well, I would n't want to be one," said Mrs. Mayward candidly.

"I suppose it's all right, if she does it from a sense of duty, as you
say," he suggested.

"Oh, yes, she's all right. And she's just as much of a girl as anybody;
though she don't know it," Mrs. Maynard added astutely. "Why would n't
she come with us? Were you afraid to ask her?"

"She said she was n't a good sailor. Perhaps she thought we were too
young. She must be older than you."

"Yes, and you, too!" cried Mrs. Maynard, with good-natured derision.

"She doesn't look old," returned Mr. Libby.

"She's twenty-eight. How old are you?"

"I promised the census-taker not to tell till his report came out."

"What is the color